A Petal in Memory
by IlluminatedSpectrum
Summary: Liam meets Theo beneath the cherry blossoms, loves Theo within the gardenias and loses Theo amongst the maples. It's not until the snowflakes fall that he remembers Theo.


**A Thiam short dedicated to the seasons.**

Liam meets Theo beneath the cherry blossoms, loves Theo within the gardenias and loses Theo amongst the maples.

It's not until the snowflakes fall that he _remembers_ Theo.

* * *

It's spring when I first see him.

Gardens in full bloom create a lively palette, a kaleidoscopic backdrop to the scenery in the park. I sit shadowed by the cherry blossoms, watching sunlight filter through the arched ceiling of fairy-tale pink, illuminating the petals raining whimsically like a dream. A warm breeze whispers the hum of bees past my ears.

He approaches me under the soft kisses of dusk, a radiant smile gracing his face, compelling my eyes off the view and onto him – where they can't seem to leave again. The blossoms around us suddenly pale in comparison to the rosiness of his complexion.

Our conversation flows smoothly for a first meeting. I'm taken by both his breezy demeanour and the somehow-familiar comfort it offers. Smoothing down the stripes of my shirt, my fingers stop to twist at the hem.

"I need to go," I tell him reluctantly and he gives an understanding nod. A reassuring pat on my hand follows casually, _naturally_. Unspoken promises linger on his skin and scorch where he touches mine.

As I walk away, a flower fragment brushes my nose and drifts onto my waiting palm. Its texture is lavish silk and all too resonant of the velvet butterflies fluttering inside my stomach.

Seared in my mind are the bottomless, hazel eyes I've left behind, swelling in my chest is the anticipation of falling into them again.

"Theo." I try aloud as soon as I'm far enough.

His name rolls off my tongue pleasantly, like the well-versed chorus of a favourite song.

* * *

It's summer when I fall in love with him.

His visits grow increasingly frequent until we have an everyday routine of sorts, sitting side by side and divulging in soft murmurings of everything and nothing, intoxicated by the sultry fragrance of surrounding gardenia bushes. He compares my eyes to each shade of the changing sky and I confide my dreams to chase the clouds. He tells me the possibilities are unending, describes plans to sail the boundless world. _I wish I could join you_ , I hold on my tongue.

Reaching over to pluck an ivory petal from a nearby bud, I deliberate whether to confess that he and the exotic scent are somehow intertwined in my mind. The idea is absurd; the dainty flowers are such a stark contrast to his dauntless image. In the end, I do it anyway, and his lips to stretch into a dazzling grin, teeth gleaming, eyes crinkling delightfully at the corners – a sight that steals my breath and makes me think maybe he _is_ just as delicate and ethereal as the petal in my hand and maybe it isn't so absurd after all.

"They were always your favourite flower," is what I think he says under his breath. Before I can ask what he means, I'm interrupted by an abrupt shriek of tires followed by blaring horns in the distance, making me cringe into my seat. The cacophony is inexplicably deafening in my ears, only worsened by its remnant ricochets in my head. By the time I recover, I've forgotten what I wanted to say.

* * *

Some days he sits and nurses a coffee, wisps of steam caressing his face and smoothing the edges along his countenance. He raises an eyebrow in question of my empty hands while leisurely swirling his drink. My mouth dries, distracted by the flex of toned forearm muscles revealed by rolled sleeves.

"I don't really drink coffee," I flick my eyes back up before I'm caught staring like an idiot, "I love the smell, but I'm apprehensive about the caffeine."

His laughter is a lilting, dulcet tone, infectious and unforgettable. I'm not sure what he finds quite so funny, but I find myself laughing along anyhow.

* * *

Some days we simply sit in companionable silence, so close that the place where our sides touch should be unbearably hot, yet it never seems to feel that way. I indulge my senses in the cocktail of aromatic Arabica bean, rich vanilla ice cream and decadent gardenia mingled between salt-specked ocean breeze, wanting to capture it in a bottle labelled S _ummer with Theo_ , wishing the moment would never end.

* * *

"I think I have an irrational fear of road signs," I say out of the blue one day, when the bright stop sign just outside the gates catches my attention and makes my stomach lurch. It takes me a few long moments to try and decipher the look that Theo gives me, but even then I'm not sure what to make of it.

"They're just signs, Liam." He finally responds, slightly terse. Slender fingers reach up to card through his sandy locks, tousling the ends.

"I know, it's weird, but I just don't like them."

"Think of them as…giant assorted lollipops," his tone finally turns teasing, "only they're made of metal. And have words printed on them. But you like lollipops, right?"

"I'm not three, Theo," I huff.

"Says the guy afraid of _signs_."

I pout petulantly, not caring that I'm further proving his point when what I receive in response is more of his tinkling laughter as he affectionately ruffles my hair. Fighting the upward quirk of my lips becomes a losing battle. All too soon, he turns to the side, gifting a view of that sharp jawline I yearn to reach out and trace. "It's getting chilly." He comments wistfully, with a trace of finality.

"Seasonal change?"

"You're not wearing nearly enough to be outside for so long. Go back." He gently urges. "I'll be here tomorrow. I promise."

"Okay," I say. "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

I don't.

I don't see him the next day either.

Or the next.

* * *

It's autumn when I lose him.

The trees have gained a golden hue and a faint hint of pumpkin spice lingers in the air, just enough to tickle the nostrils. I sit at the same bench, listening for the tell-tale crackle of dried sprigs crunching beneath booted feet. My heart sinks lower with each day that passes in silence. A leaf flutters onto my lap; its three pointed petals are a rare, obnoxious crimson that for some reason hollows my insides. I toss it aside in frustration.

As I look around, the park seems a lot smaller than I originally believed it to be. Dark, twisting gates run around the perimeter and disappear beyond the stark white building behind me. I'm reminded that it's not really a park, but rather the large, well-kept garden behind the hospital. I pick nervously at my clothing; the once vivid blue stripes seem to have dulled along with my surroundings, like the dawn of reality has dissipated my rose-coloured vision.

I've been staying at this place for a long, long while, I realise, and this garden is where I like to come for air that doesn't reek of stress and sterilisation. But none of this matters, because Theo has always visited me regardless, hasn't he?

"Liam dear, it's time to come back inside." Turning at the sound of my name, I give a small nod at the nurse to acknowledge her call. I'm positive her name begins with 'M'. She's the one with the kind smile, always tucking away at the stray, russet curls that escape her bun.

"You seem unsettled. Are you feeling alright?" She asks as I walk through the door.

I lick my cracked lips and decide to be truthful. "I'm okay, I just miss Theo. I haven't seen him in a while."

Her expression wavers fleetingly and she lets out a small sigh that indicates this might be a recurring topic of conversation for us; that it's happened maybe one too many times for her to remain unperturbed. I don't recollect ever disclosing anything about Theo in detail, so why…?

"Liam," she begins ominously, as though she despises what needs to be said next, "Theo is gone."

"I know," I reply, confused by the concern etched on her features, "I wish he'd told me he was leaving. Or where he went."

"No honey, he's _gone_. It's been a year since you were both in a car accident. Theo…he never made it. We were able to save you because we found him shielding you from the impact. I'm so sorry Liam."

That made no sense. That made no sense at all.

"I don't understand…I only _met_ him a few months ago. I– we– we've been seeing each other basically every day!"

Dr. Geyer appears to my right, possibly having noticed our exchange in passing.  
"Hello Liam, how detailed have these meetings been?" He probes. The paternal air he exudes makes me feel obliged to answer him. It reminds me of how I sometimes catch him staring out of my peripheral and I pretend not to notice the drifting sadness in his gaze.

"He's been here and he's been real." I answer louder than necessary, as thought that might help cement my words as truth. "We've talked and laughed together, we've made jokes and plans and… and we always seem to be sitting on my favourite bench..." I hate that my voice progressively lowers until it's barely audible. "I'm not entirely sure where he comes from each day, or where he goes after…I-I can't remember…" I trail off, unable to continue past the lump in my throat.

This can't be true. There's no _way_ I've been imagining Theo. There's no way-

"You've been spending your time alone in the garden for most of the year," Dr. Geyer uses my pause to clarify. Hearing it confirmed aloud plummets my heart so far down I'm sure it's shattered on the cold, hard tiles.

"But," he continues with an encouraging smile, like he isn't crushing my world with each word, "these experiences could very well be recovered memories of your previous time spent with Theo."

I can't speak.

"I know you might be confused and everything seems a bit back and forth these days, but this is good news, Liam. It may be an indicator that you're making progress."

I can't move.

"Someday soon you could wake up and find all your memories restored in the right order again."

I can't _breathe._

* * *

It's winter when I remember him.

I remember snowflakes twirling from the sky and dancing on thick lashes, flurries of frosted breath as we celebrate under festive lights. I remember the crackling of fire, the room lit with an intimate glow, hushed banter over mugs of scalding coffee – my first time trying the bitter beverage at his insistence. That night is also the first time I barge into his room and intrude his bed, giddy from the caffeine, unable to sleep and demanding a cure for my boredom. He feigns exasperation to hide his laughter and kicks me right off.

I remember strolls in the forest where layered blankets of maple leaves crunch satisfyingly beneath our feet and I delight in my findings of particularly red specimens. He reaches over to tighten my scarf and I whine that I'm not a child, only to then yelp excitedly at a squirrel. I ignore his amused eye roll as he ruffles my hair, an action that is second nature to us by now.

I remember evanescent footprints in the damp overlap between ocean and sand, the sting of salt in our eyes and prickling our sunburnt shoulders. The refreshing relief each time we dip beneath the cobalt waves. Ashore, I lounge under a parasol resting my tired muscles, only to be childishly prodded awake. He stands over me bearing a wolfish grin and shoves a makeshift bouquet of gardenias under my nose.  
"Because you're always smelling the damn things," is the only thing he says, somehow managing both proud and sheepish at the same time.

I remember sipping cherry blossom tea on a cotton blanket; the grass tickling my wandering fingers as I tug at loose threads around the sides. We count the stars in drowsy reverie, lulled by faint ripples from the lake and the unrivalled serenity belonging solely to midnight. In time, he blows out his candles and I boisterously serenade off-key well wishes, to which he just laughs and laughs and laughs.

I remember every easy grin and conceited smirk; every furrowed brow and unshed tear. I remember the softness of his hair, the warmth of his hands, the tenderness of his lips.

I remember our dreams, the excitement for our journey to begin.

I remember the curve of the road.

I remember the screech of brakes.

I remember the explosion of glass.

I remember the screams.

I remember the red.

Then the black.

* * *

It's winter, the only petals I can catch are ones that dissolve from existence the moment they touch my skin, when I finally remember my best friend, the other half to my soul, _my Theo_. It's over an entire year too late.

 _Theo._

 _I'm so sorry…_


End file.
